


Blood Gulch Rowing Club

by KitCat74737



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: i am a rower myself and i forget not everyone knows what im talking about if you wanna beta hmu, ill try to explain any terms or concepts in the beginning of the chapter that youll need to know, the freelancers are comin in the second chapter, this is going to be updated at a glacial pace just warning cause i have depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:18:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitCat74737/pseuds/KitCat74737
Summary: our fave losers all join a rowing team and meet. shenannigans ensue.  the freelancers are all on the varsity team and dreading the day our newbies graduate out of novice (the category for first-year rowers) and move up to join them





	1. Welcome to Blood Gulch

**Author's Note:**

> novice- person in their first year of rowing. they have their own separate categories at competitions  
> coxswain- pronounced cox-in. small loud person that steers the boat and tells the rowers what to do. one of my teammates once referred to them as "weak but intimidating"  
> Clarification: in an 8 boat there are 8 rowers and 1 coxswain so 9 ppl total we just say 8

“Blood Gulch Boathouse.” Tucker read aloud in a dramatic tone. “Real inviting. You know what, Church? If this team doesn’t kill you I’m gonna do it myself”. 

“Dude, shut up.” Church hadn’t even been listening to Tucker but he knew that whatever his friend had said, it was probably best responded to by a ‘shut up’. “Do you see Tex anywhere?” Church was looking eagerly around, whipping his head from side to side like an overexcited puppy. “She usually rows without a shirt on.”

Tucker’s jaw dropped slack in disbelief. Suddenly everything became clear. “I’m going to kill you.”  
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Noooooooooooooooooooooo”  
A moan was just barely audible through the windows of an old jeep over the sound of what could probably be best described as Mexican Polka or an abomination to the human eardrum.

“Oh shut up Grif,” snapped Simmons. “And close the goddamn window!”

“But it’s hot,” complained Grif. “And it’s not my fault you’re too broke to fix the stupid tape player! Seriously though, another week and I’m just gonna get a hammer and turn it off myself.”

“No you won’t, asshole, you’ve been saying that every day for the past month.” Suddenly Simmons lunged across the passenger seat. “Now roll up the window or I’m parking the car around the block!” 

Exactly on time, the jeep clunked into the boathouse parking lot accompanied by the horn blaring and the hazards flashing. One headlight was out and just barely dangled from its intended niche. It meandered across the parking lot and, incredibly, managed to hit every cone even remotely near its path. The windows slid erratically up and down, occasionally treating the outside word to a blissful second of silence before they opened again and the godawful soundtrack to the scuffle inside resumed permeating the air. When it finally stopped on the curb with a bump, two boys fell out of the front doors and landed on their feet on opposite sides of the car.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Church. Church. Earth to Church.” Tucker snapped his fingers under his friend’s nose in an attempt to make him concentrate on the person in the aqua shirt and not the one in the nonexistant shirt.

“Chuuuuuuuuuuuuuurch!!” A voice that was definitely not Tuckers echoed across the boatyard. That definitely got Church’s attention.

“Fuck,” he hissed, and immediately looked for a place to hide. Too late. A bright blue blur streaked past Tucker and tackled his friend in a…. bear hug? Tucker blinked. Church never let anyone touch him. Slowly a grin spread across Tuckers face as he processed what was happening and registered the emotion on the victim’s face.

“Why Church,” Tucker said smoothly, feigning innocent surprise, “how rude of you to never introduce me to your boyfriend”. That was it. Whoever had pressed pause on Church hit the play button.

“Get off me! Fuck! Don’t-“ Church managed to struggle hard enough to throw the much bigger person off of him. “Caboose what the fuck are you doing here!” Church yelled and attempted to land a punch on him but failing in a spectacularly Church-like way. “Fuck! I missed!” 

Caboose took a step back and his face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Church! I knew you missed me!” He dove back in for another round of ‘strangle Church’. Tucker snapped a quick photo and then magnanimously decided to step in and help his friend. 

“Woah, hey there buddy, I don’t think we’ve been introduced. I’m Tucker. The cool one.”

“Hi Tucker, my name is Caboose! I am Church’s best friend!” 

Church spluttered and looked ready to argue, but just then they were interrupted by another addition to the group.

“Hi everyone, is this where we’re meeting up? I’m Donut! Have you guys ever been to the diner across the street from here? I stopped by for lunch ‘cause I got here so early and those burgers are so flavorful, it’s like a meat party in my mouth! So what made you guys want to try rowing? I wanted a good way to cross-train for baseball, I need good legs to match how strong my arms are from all that tossing!”

“Donut?” asked Church sarcastically, apparently having stopped listening after the introduction.

Caboose had apparently let everything fly over his head because all he had to say was, “Hi! I am Caboose! I am Church’s best friend!”

Tucker, in contrast, was just standing there dumbly. His mouth was open and his eyes were wide with disbelief. He looked to be stuck somewhere between utter glee and horror. “Dude,” he said finally, “do you even hear yourself speak? Like really listen to what you’re saying?”

Donut beamed. “Do you think I have a nice voice?”

“Uhhh, sidebar!” Tucker pulled Church about a half step away. “Dude. Is this guy joking? Do you think he knows? He has to know. He can’t not know. There’s no way he doesn’t know.”  
Church cut in. “Tucker. One. Sidebar? What is this, middle school? Two. Shut up!”

“Oh good, I was worried I was going to be the only novice here who wasn’t already in shape!” A chipper voice from outside the haphazard circle announced another newcomer. 

Church’s indignation was interrupted by Donut’s “I don’t know about rowing but I’ll have you know I have quite the arm for tossing!” and Tucker’s muttered “Oh, Christ”.

The interruption however did not stop him. “Why are you all talking to us? Go away! Let me have a few glorious more minutes to myself before the coaches show up and we have to go around the fucking circle! Tucker is the most tolerable of all of you and I hate Tucker!”

“He’s in denial,” Tucker assured the group, none of who had made any move to leave. “We have a very deep and mutual bromance.”

“I’m Frank,” said the newest addition, and then “Hey, have you guys ever been to that burger place across the street? Their pastries are delectable!”

“Oooh, I’ll have to try those!” said Donut, turning to face him. “I had some great meat there earlier but I can’t believe I missed out on the opportunity for a cream puff!”

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“C’mon Grif, just go up there and ask them.”

“Why the fuck would I do that? You’re the one who has the problem with standing around doing nothing, seems to me like you should go ask them. Or better yet, don’t, and let me enjoy my last few precious minutes of freedom.”

“Grif, you know I have social anxiety!”

"Yes I do. But more importantly, I know that I don’t care. The only reason I would even consider moving and doing stuff before being asked to several times would be to go scout out the best napping places here. And that’s not work, it’s a worthwhile investment. Also, you were the one who wanted to get here early.”

“We aren’t early, we got here ten minutes before the first practice was supposed to start!”

“Yeah, like I said, early.”

“LADIES!” roared a voice from across the yard. “If you’re all done yammerin’ like a flock of prairie chickens, get over here! Double-time!”

“Oh my god,” Grif moaned, “Please tell me that’s an escaped lunatic and not our coach.”

“Yes, sir!” Simmons snapped an awkward salute and started towards the person who had given the order, a gruff looking older man.

Grif got about five seconds to mourn for the many lazy hours he saw slipping out of his reach before Simmons hollered “Grif!” and he started reluctantly forwards.

“Alright men, I am going to be one of your coaches this year. You can refer to me as either ‘sargeant’ or ‘coach’. This man here is your other coach.”

“So this is Sarge,” Church muttered to Tucker. “I have to say, I kind of thought Tex was being metaphorical when she called him a drill sergeant”. 

Tucker was busy mentally calculating how many millions of favors Church would owe him for this.

“Hi everyone, I’m Coach Flowers!” Flowers beamed out at the ragged clump as though he was seeing a completely different (and much more impressive) group of people. “First of all, let me just say how excited I am to see you all out here bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for our first practice.” He continued welcoming them in such a jovial and friendly way that they might have doubted his credentials as a rower if they had somehow been blind enough to miss his physical stature. 

Flowers was the complete opposite of the man next to him. Whereas Sarge was short with a neck the size of a tree trunk, Flowers was tall enough to dwarf even Caboose. While he might not have had a hulking form, there was no doubt that it had been several decades since he had missed a day at the gym.

“Right,” grunted Sarge. “Now, orders from the head coach are for us to go over a bunch of ‘rules’ and ‘safety protocols’ but that sounded so boring I stopped reading after that. Everyone knows the most important thing to be doing right now is anything possible to beat you boys into shape!” He accompanied that last part with a hard punch to his fist that made Grif audibly gulp.

“Ok!” Flowers stepped in, seemingly unperturbed by his co-workers disregard for things like basic safety. “First of all, we need a volunteer to act as the safety officer for this team. Nothing big is required, it’s mostly just a title we’re required to assign. Any takers?” The group was silent for about a second before Tucker quickly pointed at Frank.  
“I heard him tell Donut he knows CPR.”

“Excellent!” said Flowers, his smile somehow not diminishing even while he was speaking.

“Ok Doc, just gonna need you to sign this,” Sarge thrust a clipboard and pen into Frank’s chest, causing him to stumble backwards and splutter.

“Don’t call me that, I’m not a doctor, all I know how to do is hopefully not let a person die too quickly while an ambulance arrives!”

“Sounds good to me,” said Sarge. “Don’t worry kid, you probably won’t have to do anything. I maintain a strict walk-it-off policy for injuries!”

“Yeah, I think the name’s gonna stick,” said Church. “Sorry, doc.”

“Hmmmm” Flowers mused, partially to himself and partially to the group. “Seven’s kind of an awkward number for rowing…”

“Awww, don’t worry about it,” said Sarge enthusiastically, “we’ll just get Lopez to row with them! He’d technically be a novice too. Also, he’s always wanted to row, told me so himself!”

“Excellent!” Flowers beamed. “Then we’ll have enough for a full eight. Just one problem left.” He stepped forward to make it clear he was now fully addressing the whole group. “Boys, your first assignment is to try to recruit someone who you think would be a good coxswain. Coxswains are in charge of steering the boat and motivating the rowers. Ideal candidates will be short, confident, and loud.”

“Soooo, like him,” Tucker nodded towards Sarge.

“Drop and give me as many as your skinny arms can handle before collapsing, recruit!” boomed Sarge. “It would be criminal to waste all this power in the coxswain seat!”

“He doesn’t like being mistaken for a coxswain,” said Flowers lightly.

Just then a motor revved loudly. Grif and Simmons seemed to know what would happen a second before it did. A yellow motorbike flew towards the group at top speed, stopping itself only in the nick of time by executing a showy turn that ripped up the last few patches of brown grass that had been desperately clinging to the dusty ground.

“Hayyyyyyyyyyyy bro!” crowed the rider, leaping off the bike and landing in front of it. Her feet were spread wide and her hands were placed solidly on her hips. She was tiny, but the force of her personality just about bowled over anyone who stood unprepared before her. “Sup?” Her eyebrows angles deviously while her face broke into a wide grin. “So this is the ‘thing’ you ditched me for!” Noticing the audience, she added brightly, “Hi, I’m Kai!”

Grif’s spluttering explanation barely got started before he was cut off by an unlikely source.

“She is small and loud!” Caboose cried, looking very pleased with himself.

“Who are you calling small, asshole? I’ll have you know I could crush a man’s head with these thighs!” Kai had placed herself right in front of Caboose, who was cowering despite the fact that he had a good foot and a half on her. “Seriously though, one time I gave this dude a concussion when he was-“

“’Scuse me miss,” Sarge put in, “Have you ever heard of a coxswain?”

“In what?” asked Kai. “Cause whatever it is, I guarantee I’ve done it before.” She offered a wink at the group, but missed the eye contact Tucker looked desperate to make. 

Flowers seemed to have ignored it because he eagerly stepped in to round out the explanation. “It’s an important position in the boat. You wouldn’t be rowing yourself, but you would be in charge of the crew, steering the boat and giving orders and such. Would you be interested in that?”

Kai hooted. “Give orders to Grif that he has to follow? I’d pay to do that!”

“Excellent,” said Sarge. “Fees are due in a month.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the members of Blood Gulch Rowing Club: the Freelancers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone! I've had a crazy time lately being in the hospital and treatment for mental illness so that's why this took so long. Hopefully I will be able to update more than once a month going forward.
> 
> erg: the rowing machines you see at the gym. Also known as the ultimate torture machine. The screen tells you information like splits.  
> Split: the most common unit of measurement for rowing speed. It's seconds per 500 meters, so lower is better  
> 2k/6k test: a hellish test that sees how fast you can row a certain set distance. Think like 8 or 25 minute sprint. You could always tell at my high school when the rowing team had a test because all the rowers would be walking balls of anxiety.  
> 3x2k challenge: how this works is the person sets their erg to have them row 2000 meters three times with a certain amount of rest in between each time. The goal is to row as much of the 2000 meters as possible at a faster pace than your record for a 2k test. Once you're slower than that target 3 times, you're done for that 2000 meters.

At 7am, Texas Beth Cortana pulled into the Blood Gulch parking lot. She cut an intimidating figure even sitting down with her blonde hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail and all-black ensemble. She checked a piece of paper and looked back up the complex in front of her before crumpling the slip and throwing it onto the empty passenger seat of her beat-up pickup. After pulling a black duffel out of the bed, she headed towards the boathouse. 

It wasn’t a pretty building. Blood Gulch looked to be some kind of old storage facility and nothing had been done to change its industrial aesthetic. People often politely described it as “Spartan”. One look and it was obvious that the boathouse wasn’t what the team was known for. Tex liked it immediately. She walked in, located the main office, and pushed the door open to introduce herself in person to the Director.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

At exactly 7:29 am, a familiar screech of tires announced the arrival of North and Wash. When North spotted a familiar motorcycle already in the lot, he swore. 

“How did South get here already?! She was still asleep when we left!”

“Dude, I think your sister missed the day in drivers ed when they explained the concept of a speed limit,” said Wash through a mouthful of banana. “Wait, why is everyone already inside? We still have a whole 40 seconds left till practice starts! Technically, we are not late.”

“Well, shit,” was all North said as they crossed the yard. “We’d better not have missed lineups.”

They pulled open the door and strolled inside just in time to see Sheila disappearing up the stairs.

“Sheila! What’s going on?” Wash beat North to the punch.

“There’s some new girl putting York, Maine, and Wyoming to shame in the 3x2k challenge!” yelled Sheila over her shoulder before she disappeared into the erg room housed upstairs. 

North and Wash looked at each other in confusion and then hurried up after her. They burst through the door to the erg room together, eager to catch the tail end of the show. Sure enough, when they got inside, the rest of the team was crowded around three ergs in the center of the room. Rock music blasted from the speaker system haphazardly duck taped together, sending pulses through everyone’s bodies. On the end, laying on the ground and gasping for breath was York, regret written more clearly across his face with each shuddering inhale. Sitting next to York was Wyoming, shaking his head. Next to Wyoming sat the hulking form of Maine. Elbows resting on knees and head bent down beneath hunched shoulders, his entire body was heaving with exertion. On the far end sat Miss Back in Black. She was turned towards the window with one elbow on her knee while her other hand propped her up to the side, effectively distancing herself from the group. She looked to be trying hard to maintain her composure and was actually doing pretty well.

“One minute York, get up.” South pushed him with her foot. She was clearly enjoying watching some of the team’s strongest men get decimated by a cute blonde.

When he didn’t move she kicked him harder until he sat up with a yelp and a glare. This shook the other three out of their reveries and they all reluctantly reached forward to grab their handles and begin slowly getting back in the groove for the final piece. Usually at this time, Carolina would chime in with an encouraging, “come on guys, last one fast one!” but quick peripheral glances from the team revealed her standing behind the new girl’s erg staring intently at the screen with her arms tightly crossed. South noticed.

“Careful, Lina,” she goaded, “this new chick might have a go at your record!” 

Carolina’s eyes flickered to the wall where the top five scores on each team were prominently displayed. Carolina held the women’s team record for both 2k and 6k scores by an impressive margin. She forced her face into a smile and replied “she’s welcome to try” while visibly grinding her teeth. 

North quickly dragged his sister away before she could set off the ticking time bomb that was Carolina Church’s anger. Nobody needed to deal with that today. York dropped out first. Easygoing as always, he probably figured there was no reason to kill himself over an optional workout. He was only there to keep the new girl company but she obviously had it covered on her own. 

He glanced at the screen next to him and chuckled. “5 splits above target Wyoming and that’s strike three. You can stop, dude.” 

Wyoming gave no indication that he heard York and continued on, just barely managing to bring himself back down to target. 

York frowned and leaned over to look at the screen on the other side of Wyoming. “Seriously, Maine?” He turned around to the group behind and gestured vaguely over to Wyoming and Maine. His indignant face and moving arms conveyed his indignation better than words could have. A few awkward weight shifts showed that some others had also noticed. York’s actions called it to the attention of the rest. 

Wash stuffed the second half of a protein bar into his mouth and flicked his eyes around, taking in the expressions of his teammates. “Well,” he began awkwardly with a shrug, “I mean it’s not being recorded so it’s not like they’re officially, like, cheating…”

Connie snorted. “Well, now we know why the director likes them so much.”

Carolina’s eyes flashed as she whipped her head around. “What’s that supposed to mean, CT?” she snapped.

“Open your eyes Carolina,” Connie said, an edge to her voice. “I think a few too many “accidents” have happened in this team’s favor.”

Carolina opened her mouth again but York beat her to it. “Lina,” he said quietly. He caught and held her gaze. Her eyes flashed, but then they softened and she quickly pulled herself together in time before the Director, head coach of the Blood Gulch Rowing Club, walked in. His eyes flickered towards Tex for half a second before he stepped smartly towards the board. “Lineups!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to have this as part of a longer chapter but I'm being slow with the ending so I decided to split it up and just post this part now, so that's why it's so short! This was all just more setting up the scene and me trying to get the hang of writing the freelancers. I'm working on developing an actual plot line and I've got some stuff that I'm *really* excited to write :)


	3. Chapter 2.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bi Tucker. Demi Church. Hot Lopez. Watch out ladies and gentlemen, here come the headcanons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the rest of the chapter guys! I thought about just combining it with the last one like I planned, but then I didn't want to confuse anyone.

If you asked the members of the Blood Gulch what they thought of Carolina Allison Church, you’d mostly get two answers. A few more diplomatic answers might be “softer on the inside” or “determined”, but the majority would split on two adjectives. “Scary” and “Bitch”. Thus, it was a credit to Tex that she survived an entire practice of Carolina’s death glare, but she had gone even further. She met it.

An outsider might be confused. Tex hadn’t said anything more than a polite word or two to Carolina, she hadn’t looked at her funny, and they hadn’t ever met each other. To the team, it was understood that Tex had done everything to Carolina. She had stolen her seat. In the day’s lineups, Tex was stroke seat, front of the line of rowers, directly facing the coxswain. Carolina sat behind her. In rowing, the stroke seat is, for better or for worse, known as the most prestigious seat in the boat. That rower sets the pace and ratio of each stroke, and everyone else has to follow them. Personally, I believe that the whole “prestige” thing was made up by coaches in a desperate attempt to get somebody to want that seat. It sucks. Drop me a line if you want to hear about my experiences in the hell seat.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

After practice, most of the varsity stayed behind to chat with the new novices. South beelined off to where the girls stood. 

“Us ladies gotta stick together” South declared, and dragged CT off with her.

Wyoming followed, in an attempt to “show the ladies our charm”. He was the kind of guy where a select few thought he was dashing, but most thought he was kinda creepy. The moustache definitely did not help.

Carolina stormed off, muttering darkly, and Tex had quietly disappeared.

Wash, York, and North met up in a quick huddle, then sidled off towards the novice men. Every year, York and North planned the hazing. This year, Wash was eager to join. Payback was sweet.

“Nice pink shirt, dude” Wash smirked as he, North, and York came over to the novices. 

“It’s not pink, it’s lightish red,” yelled Donut, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. “Anyways, it’s laundry day.”

“Well I like it,” Doc remarked cheerfully. “It looks good on him and I can appreciate a man comfortable enough in his masculinity to wear pink. Besides, Tucker over there is in a nice baby blue.” 

Donut brightened considerably at that but still sent a glare over towards Wash. 

Tucker sputtered. “What, no, it’s more of, like, aqua!”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop this discussion before it even starts,” Church drawled. “I do not give a fuck what color anybody is wearing.”

Just then Tucker whipped his head around and nudged Church. “Yo, who’s the hot dude over there?”

A brown-skinned boy was threading his way through the groups milling about in the yard. Loud clanking sounds were coming from the large black backpack he had slung over one shoulder.

“What? Tucker, can your desperate bi ass leave the pining for some time that is not now? Or, like, ever?” Church didn’t even bother to turn around to see who Tucker was nodding towards. “Like two seconds ago you were still drooling over the orange guy’s sister.”

Tucker nudged again. “C’mon Church, you don’t need to be gay to see that he’s hot. Your demi ass can still appreciate the aesthetic of a well made dude. ‘Sides, I can still admire the hot chick too, that’s why God invented the threesome. " _Bow-chicka-wow-wow._ ”

“Lopez!” Sarge’s booming voice carried easily across the entire yard. The boy with the backpack winced, having almost made it into the safety of the boat bay. Boat bay was one of the many new terms the Blood Gulch novices had had thrown at them that day. An optimistic 50% remembered that that was the name of the cavernous rooms offshooting the main building where they kept the boats on racks. 

“Lopez, good to see you! I’ve got some great news for you!” 

Lopez noticeably blanched.

“You’re gonna row! We have an open spot for you on our novice team!”

“ _I don’t want to row. I’m not even sure why I come here to fix everything you break._ ”

The first thing the novices (well, second for Tucker) noticed about Lopez was that he spoke in Spanish. Like Sarge, they all immediately assumed that he spoke no English. It occurred to no one that if that was true, he wouldn’t be able to decipher the notes left to him on what was broken. Cappy knew. Cappy had decided that if Lopez was more comfortable speaking in Spanish, then that was just all right.

“Great!” said Sarge cheerfully. “I knew you’d be excited! The varsity needs a good novice team to back them up next year!”

“ _The only thing this varsity needs is therapy and a support group for people named after U.S. states._ ”

“I agree! This year’s group is looking great!”

“Are… are they having a conversation in two different languages?” Simmons drew his brows together in confusion.

“Yeah… don’t worry about it” York offered. “They’re definitely strange people, but they’re somehow both great at what they do.”

“But they understand each other, right?” Simmons was still stuck on this small hang-up.

“I think Lopez understands Sarge” North put in cheerfully.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m not.” Grif was apparently not asleep where he was laying in the sun. 

“Uh, ok.”

“While we’re talking, uh, the varsity have to fill out some paperwork, so, we have to know your addresses.” Wash was going for smooth but got lost along the way.

“Oh don’t worry, I already filled out all of my forms online,” Simmons assured him. “I did Grif’s too, while I was at it. I’ll start on his sister’s later today.”

“Start on my what? I don't give consent until I know what we're doing.”

“Well, Kai, we have to know some basic information about you, like where you live.” 

“Why, are you a cop?”

“Yeah, dude, why do you wanna know where we live so badly? I just want to put it out in the open right here and now that NOBODY here is hooking up with my baby sister!” That last part Grif shouted for the yard to hear.

Wash blinked. This was not going where he hoped. 

“What? I'm not a... Why would you even think that?”

Kai squinted suspiciously. “Sounds like something a cop would say! I’m not tellin’ you nothin’, and neither will Grif, COP!”

York winced. “All right everyone, lets just calm down now. Wash isn’t a cop, and he’s just giving address as an example from the forms because he doesn’t remember any of the questions on it.”

That was good enough for Grif. Kai was not convinced. 

“Cop,” she whispered as she walked past Wash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna continue to put Lopez's lines in italicized English. I was gonna try to translate and even got a book on conversational Spanish from the thrift store but I realized I wouldn't be able to have him say everything I wanted him to and google translate sucks


End file.
